Black Lotus
by ZABBM
Summary: Leliana, after years of recovering from her unrequited love for Morrigan, falls back into her toxic feelings beside the Inquisitor and a reality-bending war for Thedas.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

We met some time ago. A very long time ago, in fact. It almost feels like an age since I saw her last. We were all facing mortal danger, and she waltzed into a tavern with the only hope for Ferelden at her side, and my heart in her hand.

I was a lost soul, finding peace with the Maker but madness in my past. I looked back and saw all that I hated about myself, dancing with all that I enjoyed. My life as a bard, my dealings with the Game. Marjolaine. And all I wanted was to escape into a deeper purpose.

I found my legend at the end of the Fifth Blight, but with it came despair. I lost so many things there. My innocence, for the second time. The love of my life, who I couldn't love back. And the dream of my existence, who didn't love me.

She intoxicated me with her words, formed into poetry as soon as they left her, but as quick as if she were babbling nonsense. It was all natural to her. I could listen to her talk for hours, but, of course, she never breathed a word to me.

I was her antithesis. I am her evil twin. I believed in the things she treated as fairy tales. Whenever I pleaded for the life of another, she showed me her eyes, justenough to make my heart weep, to hate my compassion.

And so I was tortured, daring not to break my silent struggle. I found a kindred spirit in The Hero, but to speak of her would be blasphemy. I did not deserve her love, one I didn't share. My heart was taken already, and nothing could take it back. Not distance. Not a decade.

But that's when, just as before, she waltzed into my life.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was a muggy night, and I was wearing some ridiculous military regalia. There were even mosquitos, a creature I was convinced that we… no, the Orlesians,not me… that _they_ eradicated. Out of convenience. I guess not, not now, not after everything.

It was nostalgic. Everyone was glittering in the Palace. The air of the ballroom was almost golden itself. I chatted with the Inquisitor, with Josie, with everyone. I felt silly wearing those stupid boots. Those little shoes with flowers on the toe seemed to be in vogue at the time, and it felt like everyone knew that I wasn't wearing any. They probably didn't care, but seeing them all, seeing the quirks of the Game again... it was wonderful.

But it was never right. I talked with so many people, but I found that I knew everything about them already. I wasn't a bard anymore; I was a spymaster. I knew their vices and pains. The masks couldn't hide it, every quiver in their voice when they spoke of their servants, every awkward laugh when elves came up in conversation, every sniffle, every "Excuse me," every eye that found mine with a single tear clinging to it... It was too much.

I was mixed with emotion. It was an awful feeling, deep in my stomach. It was rumbling, with happiness and compassion, half justified, half guilty. I wanted to get my mind away from myself.

I tried to find Josie. If anyone could get what I was feeling, what it meant to be a lapsed Orlesian, it was her. She could take my mind off of things, one way or another.

She was off with some nobles, in an impenetrable circle. It was maddening. I tried everyone; The Inquisitor was off sabotaging some plot, Cullen was moping, Vivienne was bragging, and Sera... I was too smart for that.

Have you ever felt that someone didn't know you, but you knew everything about them? It was boiling in the uniform, and not a single person noticed. I could have them all tried for treason with a single raven, but not a damn eye cared when I ran past, verging on crying.

I found an empty bedroom, one that looked like it hadn't been used for years. Figures, for the Queen, at least. I sat on the bed, and the dam burst. It must've been gallons; I could barely breathe with it all ripping out of me.

The door opened, and I tried to save face, as best that one in my situation could. And she was there.

Her dress hugged the floor, the skirt billowing from her perfect waist. She was older, but not in wrinkles or slights in her skin; her eyes spoke of a maturity that could only come from a decade. They were still as yellow as they ever were, and still as piercing. But they didn't scream as they used too. They whispered.

"Leliana." Her voice was smooth, like a fine billow of smoke rising from a burned home. It was warm, just like it.

I was still flooding the bed. "Mor-Mo-"

"Oh, no, don't... just, please. Don't." It was an order, but only in that I complied with it.

"Wh-why are you.."

"Stop. That doesn't matter. Not now."

I decided that if I was going to blubber I shouldn't talk at all.

"I know. I know it all."

Nothing happened, for almost a minute. I was petrified, almost. My hands were shaking.

"I'm sorry." It was almost as if it hadn't been said, but if I had ran my fingers around the words. It came to me in a way that can't happen through the ears.

"Let me try again." She was walking towards me now, slowly, with each step meaning something new.

She held my hand, and brought my head to her lap. Her dress was the most wonderful pillow I've ever rested on. And that fabric wasn't even in vogue.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

My head was glued to her, for what seemed like hours. She ran her fingers through my hair, tracing outlines and shapes that had no names. It was like her hands were thinking, experimenting, trying to see what would work, what makes sense, what they're comfortable with. I tried not to think about it, just focusing on holding the moment. If I forgot this day, this room, this bed, this dress, this woman, then all would be lost. I was sure of it.

Finally, one of us spoke. There was no silence in the room; her dress moved loudly, but I didn't mind. Anything that made me sure that I wasn't sleeping was a good thing. A great thing.

She said "I'm different now."

"That's all you could think of?"

"It's been ten years. I forgot my speech."

We both laughed, in that nervous, teenage girl kind of way. The way that you laugh when someone you love with all your heart does some small kindness.

I lifted my head from her lap, but I was tired. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever done, removing myself from her. But like magic, I was stuck again, this time on her shoulder. I could smell her perfume, the intimate smell, not what you detect as you walk by. The true odor; the one that holds the moment of them putting it on, what lets you into their life, what removes the pretense.

"You smell like a lotus, Morrigan."

"I couldn't tell."

She looked down on me. She'd always done this, but not in the literal sense. It used to be that, to her, I was a child, a little girl who believed in fairy tales, with hopes and dreams for the world that were too grand and too optimistic for reality. Now, I've learned why she thought the way she did; I see Thedas with older eyes. But when Morrigan shone her golden lights at me, I felt young again. Like I could save the world. Like I saw the Maker. And now, she saw it too.

I can't accurately tell you how I felt as our eyes met each other. I tried my best there, but to fully explain the acrobatics my heart was doing, I would need an Age. That's how the world tells you that you're finally-truly, in all senses of the word- _in_ love.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

How does one know that they're alive? For all I know, an assassin claimed me as I had rushed away from the ball. Maybe I was dead. Maybe the Maker had placed me in a personal heaven, a replica of my world, but altered to allow for Morrigan to want me. I _felt_ alive. I felt like I'd never killed anyone in my entire life, that I had sat upon a sheet of linen underneath an endless starlight for all of my life. That's when reality came back to me, when I had to ask the damning question.

"What changed?"

Morrigan remained quiet, looking deeply into my eyes. Hers were flashing, radiant, secretive. It was what made her a wonder, but, as I always managed to do, I made them villainous with my insistence on thinking.

"Why are you here now, when before, you couldn't look at me?"

Still, nothing.

"You said you had forgotten your speech."

"Why wouldn't I have? You're kind of an… imposing figure, nowadays."

"Am I?"

"Leliana, you could end my life with a piece of paper written to a hungry cadet. You could spread rumours that I'm bewitching Templars into fighting for Corypheus. You could whisk me away in the night, and claim I was stolen by Gaspard. You could do literally almost everything that could hurt me."

"Almost?"

"You can't say no, not right now."

Which is when she brought my head up from her lap, gently, light as a feather, and brought me close to her face. Her eyes closed, as did mine. In the darkness, I felt her thumb pull my lips slightly open. I felt more than a bit helpless, but in way that demanded a dashing heroine to save me from the world. Her lips touched mine, and it was like we ripped a hole in my heart, together, and were neglecting to mention it. It was over in a moment, although I could not measure how long such a thing is. All I knew was if it went on for a decade it would have been too short.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I was left speechless, and more than a little confused. Maybe it was my brain being muddled after such a surprise encounter, or maybe it was the logic rising from the rest it had taken in our time in the bedroom, but I decided to ask the question.

"Morrigan?"

"Yes?" She smirked as she said it, like she had triumphed in some way. Smoke seemed to rise from her lips and brighten her eyes. Maybe that's not a metaphor. She is a witch, after all. Maybe she was trying to say something. She looked happy, though, and more than a little mischievous, in an honest way, if such a way exists.

"What does this mean? Do you love me?"

The smile was wiped from her face, and the smoke was snuffed. She's rather beautiful when she's about to cry, and that's what made it hurt more. I loved seeing her vulnerable, for I'd never seen it before. I loved knowing that she was feeling something, something more than I'd ever known her to express. But it also meant that I had done something grievous. A woman never cries without reason, especially someone as stoic as my Morrigan.

She sobbed, jerkingly, fighting the tears, and winning, almost. I could tell that she was fit to burst, but nothing came from her. She never learned how to cry. It's what makes a person's future, knowing how to let someone else take control and let yourself admit that something's wrong. In Orlais, it was common, but only behind closed doors. Lords and ladies would hide in their closets and weep, in a controlled way, so that no one could hear them over the sounds of whatever party they were hosting. As a bard, I knew the signs: people excusing themselves, doors closing and locking without notice, gossip about an Elven servant being robbed and killed.

Morrigan had no luxury, no games to play that hid her from embarrassment. I've been in enough forests to know that there's no places to cry. The boughs offer no shelter, the caves only amplify your suffering. If one wanted to find you, and punish you for being an emotional being, they could, just by opening their ears.

I held her, as she held me. She grasped, she clung, to me and her dignity. There was no need to; it was never going to leave her, not in a million years, and neither was I.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I wished I had never posed the question. Morrigan is so important to me, so dear, so loved. Love is not asking silly questions, trying to know everything. Love is the knowledge that everything is nothing, except for the someone you hold in your arms. All mystery is accepted; all actions justified. As it should be. As love is in its true form.

But I had violated this law. I was the one who attacked my own affections out of pure curiosity. What had I done? I've never been this before. I used to be so carefree, a woman who hoped, who saw the light where others found blood, who believed in the Maker's mercy, knowing that he would set things right. I had let life go as life should; unadulterated, free-flowing, guided by a loving hand. I never asked Morrigan why she could not love me, not back then; I couldn't stand to hear her rationalize me away. I never questioned it, and I let myself be free. What changed? Why had I chosen the complete opposite of my previous life? When everything was right, I made her cry.

She looked up at me. Tears were flowing from her eyes, but she was trying her hardest to pretend that nothing was there.

"I'm sorry, Morrigan. I'm so sorry."

"What for? This is my burden to bear. This is my atonement. I am the one who wronged."

"I don't understand."

"I hurt you, Leliana. I tried to harden you. You are a beautiful flower, next to a storm, not fighting it, but living with it, and growing alongside it, and never withering in the face of its oppression. Even as the greatest threat we've ever faced bares its teeth down upon you, your warmth radiates, even into me. Me, the blackened soul, the one who tried to cut the lotus from its stem. What have I done to you? What suffering must I have caused? What repayment can I give for the way I burned you?"

I could not understand. It was if I never made her cry. Is this why this night had happened? Was she trying to be forgiven? Maybe my question was being answered; however, I had no desire to think upon it.

She raised her lips to mine, but it was different. Now, I was the one who kissed her. She looked upon me, vulnerable, asking for a gift. It was no gift, not from me, it was not a benevolent choice. It was necessity, to love her, and to show her that atonement would not be found, because none was needed, as long as the moment lasted.


End file.
